


sleep where they wont see you

by ZOMBIEDOG



Series: NOT A HORSE [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Other, decided to post it here to kick off a new collab-series with my fluff, uhh originally posted on tumblr for a mutual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:40:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22160446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZOMBIEDOG/pseuds/ZOMBIEDOG
Summary: Though nothing could be seen, John knew he wasn’t alone.
Relationships: n/a
Series: NOT A HORSE [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1595092
Kudos: 10





	sleep where they wont see you

John Marston was no stranger to the darker side of this world. Things that bumped and growled in the night, snapping fangs and vicious claws wreaking havoc under pale moonlight, legends he’d grown upon. Legends he’d heard shared around the campfire in the early days when he was still young and new and learning to trust. Legends he’d never thought real until he faced them himself.

By no means was John a religious man, rarely did he pray and not once had he bowed his head in a church service, he wasn’t even sure he believed in something bigger than himself. What god was so cruel to let him starve as he had? To take his father and mother from him? To leave him in the gallows until Dutch saved him? Why should he believe in something so _cruel_?

He was not a believer, not in the way Reverand Swanson was, or the way Molly O’shea was. Even Javier once had invited him to participate with him, but John had declined them all, as he wasn’t a believer and he wasn’t cruel enough to cast his doubt upon them needlessly. But that night in the woods? It would _make_ him a believer. A believer in something unholy and grotesque and not meant for man to ever discover.

John had been tasked to find a debtor hiding away in Annesburg, and as he saddled Old Boy up, he noticed a shift in the wind. Nights in Horseshoe Overlook were always cold, being so close to the mountains, but this cold was different. It was almost cruel in a way, seeping deep into his bones and burrowing even deeper until he could feel nothing _but_ the cold. But then he felt the warmth of Old Boy’s muzzle softly whuffling at him, tugging at the sleeve of his coat, and just like that, the cold was gone.

He didn’t give it much thought and merely climbed into the saddle, giving his mount a solid pat on the neck, and with a click of his tongue, he was carried away from the soft safety of camp at a steady trot. And as the light and laughter faded, he was surrounded by nothing but the empty cold and the feeling he was being watched. Constantly casting glances over his shoulder, John had to resist the urge to jump at every creak of a branch or rustle of the tree’s leaves.

Though nothing could be seen, John knew he wasn’t alone.

As Old Boy continued on the trail, trotting past the trees that seemed to lean forward, John couldn’t help but clutch the reins tighter in his fist. He began to hum “Clementine” to himself as a way to fill the silence, but the words died in his throat as the sensation of being watched only seemed to grow more intense.

And suddenly, Old Boy stopped, stock still with ears perked forward as if listening for something in the night that John couldn’t even begin to comprehend. The old stallion’s frame gave a mighty shake as he whinnied into the night, a soft cloud of steam escaping through his nostrils as he exhaled into the cold atmosphere. And distantly, John heard an answer.

It all happened so quickly, John didn’t even have time to stop Old Boy before the stallion reared, sending an unprepared John tumbling from the saddle to land on the hard ground beneath him. Surprisingly, the stallion didn’t flee, even seeming to stand in front of John as if to protect him. From what? John didn’t want to know.

And as the trees began to whip and sway about, he heard a voice echoing distantly in the back of his head, and as he focused, he began to make out what it was saying.

‘ _ **Cover your ears**_ ,’ it hissed, not unkindly, if urgently. ‘ ** _Cover your ears_ now _, what the trees say is not meant for you to understand_** ,’. And so, John covered his ears, eyes closed tightly and slowly curling into himself with his knees shielding his chest. And just as suddenly as this had all started, it stopped. John didn’t dare open his eyes or uncover his ears, too afraid as to what he would see or hear.

But yet again, all he felt was the soft warmth of Old Boy’s muzzle, whuffling him comfortingly, in a way he’d seen the stallion do with young Jack, and not once in his life had John felt more protected. Scrambling to his feet with the help of Old Boy, the stallion’s head under his arm, he made quick work of freeing his lantern from his saddle and setting it alight. And then he saw it.

Old Boy’s eyes were no longer the kind, intelligent brown he’d grown so familiar with. They were a pale blue, almost white, and they held the weight of millennia and the answers to every question man could ever ask. John felt like he was gazing upon something not meant for his eyes. And then, he heard the voice again.

‘ ** _You’re safe with me, they won’t harm you, not while I’m here_** ,’ it soothed, a soft whicker leaving Old Boy as the stallion nudged him close, laying his head over John’s shoulder and nuzzling at his back, ‘ ** _I’ll not let them have you_** ’.

And as foolish as he felt to admit it to himself, John knew the voice was his stallion, and the thought calmed him, it felt like when Arthur had given him a spare coat in Colter, warm and safe and protected. It felt like his brother was here with him, at his back ready to defend him. But it was just the two of them, and whatever hid itself within the shadows of night.

‘ ** _I will carry you home_** ,’ was the last thing the voice said, and with one last shiver, John pulled away from the stallion, and when he looked into his eyes, he only saw that familiar, comforting brown. He didn’t sleep much that night, nor did he even bother to set up a tent, curled up against Old Boy, hiding himself away in the space between the stallions back leg and stomach.

And as he left those woods, he still felt like he was being watched, like he was being _hunted_. And as he gave Old Boy another pat, the stallion carried on in a gentle canter, not slowing once until they had finally reached the small town of Annesburg. Even then, the stallion rarely strayed far from John’s side, constantly shadowing him until they safely returned to Valentine, and thus, Horseshoe Overlook.

John Marston was still not a man of faith, nor did he believe in the traditional sense, but he did believe in something. Something evil and hateful, something that was hunting him. Something worse than a legend, because it was _real_.

And it wanted nothing more than John between its teeth and underneath its claws.


End file.
